Small Hallelujahs

Sometimes there are days when I just need to write out my thoughts in order to process everything that has happened.  This is one of those days.  There hasn't been any huge cosmic happening in my life but it's the little things.  The hugs, the looks, the warmth, the friendships, but most of all, today it has been the words.

I have been to many funerals and memorial services over the course of my life.  We have a large family and besides that, I was brought up in a church where it was very important to attend special services.  Whether it was a funeral service, a visitation, a hospital visit, a baby shower, or really anything you can think of, we were encouraged to attend.  Always being told that "people remember that you were there."  Having been on the receiving end of this, I can confirm that you might not remember who said what or who brought what covered dish, but you definitely remember that they were there.

Last Sunday our big family met to remember and honor my Uncle Doug, who I knew as Uncle Doug but didn't really know well because he had always lived in a different town.  I recognized his children and a few of his grandchildren but that's about as far as it went.   Uncle Doug was a war veteran,  a father, husband, grandfather, brother, son, railroad worker, just to name a few things.  He lived a long life and passed peacefully when his time came.  Because his chosen funeral preacher had already passed, as well, Uncle Doug's son, Jerry, delivered the message at the funeral.  As I sat in the chapel of the funeral home, with about 83 family members, I had no idea what I was about to experience.

Jerry is a cousin that I have seen and spoken with over the years but to say I "know" him would be inaccurate.  He is a quiet man, soft-spoken and slow to speak.  I knew this because I had talked with him on the phone the previous day about a song he wanted me to sing at the cemetery.  He got up to begin his talk and almost immediately you could feel God's Spirit fill the room.  Slowly and deliberately he spoke of our family heritage.  He went on to tell of his memories of going to my Grandmother's house when he was growing up and how special and loved she made him feel.  He felt that he was her very favorite grandson but he came to realize as he got older that she had a way of making everyone feel that way.  But this wasn't her "gift."  Her "gift" was not making everyone feel this way, her "gift" was so much more because she had the "gift" of  LOVE.  That struck heavy with me.  Because he was right.  "Love is patient, love is kind.  It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.  It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrong.  Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.  It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres."  

John and Viola Jenkins and 13 of their 16 children

As I looked around that room of family members I thought about all of the countless ways that these people embodied just that one word.  I could write from now until next week about specific stories but suffice it to say that the two descriptions that stuck the most with me were always protects and always hopes.  These Jenkins are strong on those two.  Jerry went on to talk about his Dad, Uncle Doug, and how his mission in life was simply to take care of his family.  It doesn't get any better than that.  He had two sons and with his wife, children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren sitting there, it was obvious that Grandmother Jenkins' gift of "love" was passed on to Uncle Doug.

Uncle Doug 

We left to go to the cemetery and on the way down there my two sisters and I had a lively discussion about "spiritual gifts."  I don't remember what got this discussion started but when we're together it's always thought provoking. I have thought many times this week about Jerry's words to the family.  It didn't hit me until much later what the Bible says about this, too.  "If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love,  I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal.  If I have the gift of prophecy, and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains,  but have not love,  I am nothing."  


When we got out of the car at the family cemetery it was cold but sunny.  Every time I go out there I imagine  Grandmother Jenkins and how she made several trips to that hill to bury several of her children who died before her.  When I was little this cemetery used to scare me a little,  but now it is a place of peace, quietness and memories of the love of a large family.  When it was my turn to sing "Amazing Grace"  the coldest wind came over the gathering.  It caused me to pause and for a moment I had trouble remembering how to start this very familiar song.  As I looked at the funeral director and then to the clouds I knew without a doubt that the breath of Heaven had just come through that hill.  I knew it and it gave me strength for that day and the days to come when we will gather there again.  And in the words of my sweet, quiet cousin, Jerry, every single tear was a "small hallelujah" to the love of the family of John and Viola Jenkins.